Page 70 of The Games We Play
“I said we’re going to the dance floor,” she said with a teasing smile. “You coming?”
I glanced around. Mac was already back at the far end of the bar, pouring drinks and talking to someone I didn’t recognize.
“Ugh, yes,” I said, grabbing my shot glass. Without a second thought, I tipped it back, the tequila burning smooth and sharp down my throat.
We moved to the dance floor, music vibrating through the floorboards, laughter curling around us like smoke. But I couldn’t help it—I glanced over my shoulder.
And there he was.
Mac was pouring a drink, but his eyes? They were onme.
I smiled, flipping my hair over my shoulder with purpose, and threw him a wink before turning away again.
Every step I took after was deliberate. My hips swayed just a little more than usual, teasing and hypnotic—because I knewhewas watching.
And I wanted him to feel it. Every. Damn. Step.
This was my payback.
I could’ve thrown a drink in Mac Ridley’s face, God knows I’d fantasized about it more than once. Or spat the sharp words I’d whispered to myself during sleepless nights, curled up and aching from the weight of wanting someone who had given up so quickly.
But no.
That wasn’t how you got to Mac.
Not really.
If I wanted to rattle him, truly rattle him, I had to hit where it hurt.
And Mac? He was a jealous creature.
And me? That was my weakness. My favorite non-sexual kink was a man who couldn’t hide it when he wanted me.
So tonight, I was going to make damn sure he remembered exactly what he pushed away.
The bar was alive with music, bodies moving under low lights, the scent of liquor and sweat and temptation thick in the air. Tequila burned in my chest and the beat in my bones as I moved to the edge of the dance floor.
I didn’t even have to look to know where he was. I felt him watching me from behind the bar like he always did. That unreadable expression, that tight jaw, those sharp, whiskey-colored eyes that followed my every move.
Good.
Let him watch.
My hips found the rhythm easily, swaying to the slow, sultry beat. I let my body move with the music, fluid and effortless.
I turned away from him, keeping my back to the bar, letting him see the curve of my spine, the way my skirt hugged me tight. I slid my fingers into my hair, tousling it as I tilted my head back and pretended to laugh at something no one said, just for show.
Just for him.
Someone behind me brushed a little too close, but I didn’t step away. I let it happen. Let the illusion bloom. I arched slightly, shifting my weight like I might press into someone. Like I was open to the idea. Like I wasn’t thinking ofhim.
But I was.
Every single move I made was for him.
I knew what he looked like when he was about to break—when his knuckles went white on the edge of the bar, when his eyes narrowed and that little muscle in his jaw ticked because someone else had the nerve to look at me the way he did.
So I kept dancing. Just long enough to make him burn. Just long enough to stir that possessive part of him I knew too well.
